


a group of like-minded ladies with unusual interests

by sophiegaladheon



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Gen, Vedero’s Science Salon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27947375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Shaleän visits the Untheileneise Court and makes the acquaintance of a rather unusual group of ladies.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	a group of like-minded ladies with unusual interests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semperfiona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperfiona/gifts).



> This was written for Fiona as part of the 2020 Fandom Trumps Hate event. thank you so much for participating! The prompt was for something with Shaleän or Vedero. I hope you enjoy!

To see the Untheileneise Court is a remarkable thing. If nothing else, Shaleän thinks, the emperors of the Elflands know how to inspire awe. It was not the same awe one felt in the presence of a school of whales in the deep-water ocean, as far from any land or other ship as a sailor would possibly dare go, or in the midst of a late-summer storm, threatened by wind and waves on a raging sea. It is also not the same awe she feels at the sight of her wife’s smile, or the sheer overwhelming joy that fills her when she considers how lucky she is to have married her.

No, it is not the same as these things. But still, the Untheilensise Court is very impressive.

She is not here for the architecture, anyway, so it is of no matter. She is here to see her nephew.

If Shaleän was surprised to receive an invitation to visit her recently and unexpectedly elevated nephew in the heart of the Elflands, that surprise hadn’t lasted long. Nadeian’s letters had described him as kind—a curious epithet for an emperor if ever there was one, even an unexpectedly elevated one—but it took no more than a single meeting, not more than fifteen minutes, for Shaleän to confirm Nadeian’s assessment to be an accurate one.

Of course, the problem with visiting one’s nephew when one’s nephew is an emperor is that emperors are very busy and cannot neglect the business of government for the sake of personal social engagements. “You must think us a poor host, to invite you all this way to visit only to make you wait while we are otherwise occupied,” Maia had said with a wry smile.

Shaleän had laughed. She had hardly ever seen her own father as a child, and that was more a result of the Great Avar’s schedule than her own natural-born status. And the Elflands is twice the bureaucracy that the Barizhan is.

Regardless, Shaleän was still faced with the prospect of considerable time alone and unoccupied in the court. “We shall introduce you to our sister Vedero,” Maia had said, “She and her cohort hold regular salons. We are sure they would be delighted to meet you.”

Which is how Shaleän found herself wandering through the many and winding corridors of the Untheilensise Court, a sheet of paper with directions listed on it in Maia’s secretary’s hurried scrawl gripped in one hand, a second sheet of paper with an introduction presenting Shaleän Sevraseched to Vedero Drazhin, made by one Maia Drazhar, with apologies for not doing so in person.

After the third time passing what she thought was the same staircase with carvings of ivy and trellised pear trees winding up the banister railings, Shaleän drew to a halt, glared down at her directions, and cursed—softly, she might be a sailor but she knows enough about courtly propriety not to embarrass herself.

The Untheilensise Court might be awe-inspiring and beautiful and all of the things a seat of imperial power is supposed to be, but it is also intolerably convoluted. She can find her way anywhere with only a compass and a sextant, but a sailor’s skills at navigation are useless in a building the size of a city.

Finally, when she concedes defeat and admits that the—she is sure very competent—secretary’s directions cannot help her, she flags down a passing servant and is pointed in the right direction. It takes her two more attempts even after that, and she is well and truly late for the beginning of the salon, but Shaleän finally arrives with her sense of awe thoroughly dispersed and her curiosity now piqued at the thought of how anyone managed to navigate the Untheilensise Court without a map, a compass, a personal guide, and divine blessings.

The door is opened by an inscrutable young ladies’ maid, who takes Shaleän’s letter of introduction and leads her into an empty, formal parlor. As the maid slips silently into the further depths of the apartment, Shaleän is left alone, and she contemplates her surroundings. The room is not what she expected, from what her nephew has told her of her hostess. It is poorly lit, stiff and formal in a style some twenty years out of date, if Shaleän’s judgment of the furniture is correct. 

Surreptitiously, she runs a finger along the mantle of the cold fireplace. No dust, but that doesn’t mean much in a place with scrupulous servants or exacting masters.

The maid slides back through the doorway and motions for Shaleän to follow. Shaleän does not jump, she is a sea captain with decades of experience, she is not so easily startled, and she follows. The maid leads her down a hall and through a set of double doors. 

Upon the opening of the doors, the wave of noise that greets Shaleän is not unlike the roar of the sea—constant and overwhelming. She steps into the brightly-lit room. Half of it is filled with comfortable looking over-stuffed upholstered sofas and a scattering of plain wooden chairs, the floor covered with rugs and a squat table in the center bearing a plain white tea set. What looks to be the carrying case for a telescope is tucked away in the corner, and the walls are covered with what, in Shaleän’s professional opinion, are well-drawn if amateur star maps.

The other half of the room has been cleared out down to the bare wooden floorboards except for a large, sturdy wooden work table such as a tailor or other craftsman might have against the wall to one side. It is covered with books and bits of metal machinery.

It is from this side of the room the noise Shaleän hears originates. There is a group of women, perhaps a half dozen, all dressed in clothing of fine fabrics and sensible cuts, standing in a circle around some mechanical object on the floor, shouting at one another over the fierce metallic shrieking the thing is making. Shaleän is amazed she could not hear it in the hall.

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

One of the women hits at something on the back of the thing and the noise dies away in a painful whistle.

“Merciful goddesses, Aizheän, what was that?” asks one of the women.

Another, who must be the aforementioned Aizheän, shakes her head as she frowns down at the thing. “That is truly the question. Well! We shall soon find out once we get it open and look at the insides. It certainly wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“We should certainly hope not!” replies the first. 

“Well!” says a third woman as she approaches Shaleän with a twinkle in her eye. “That was certainly an introduction to our little salon. We doubt the Emperor would have sent you if he knew we would be subjecting you to such unpleasantries. We do promise things are not _always_ so chaotic here.” She gives Shaleän a rather wry smile, as if to say that they only _usually_ were so, and Shaleän rather suspects that Maia had known as such when he suggested she visit. 

“What was that?” Shaleän asks the woman who must be Vedero Drazhin.

“It’s supposed to be a singing mechanical armadillo. It’s one of Dach’osmin Tativin’s. She makes mechanical creatures. We are afraid it rather spectacularly malfunctioned.” 

“It could be used as a weapon,” Shaleän suggests.

Vedero lets out a laugh, loud and strong. “Many of Aizheän’s creations do end up having unintentionally violent applications. Now, as for you, Captain,” she says as she guides Shaleän over to sit on one of the sofas. “We have been told that we may impose upon you if you care to share your knowledge. That is what we do here, we are a like-minded group of ladies with, shall we say, unusual interests. We know not what you have been told of us, but as for ourself, we study astronomy.”

Shaleän raises an eyebrow at that. If the star maps on the walls were Vedero’s work then she is impressed. “Well, we are not a lady,” she says, “but we do know about the stars. If you would not find maritime navigation to be too dull for your tastes, we would be happy to share in the discussion.”

With that, Shaleän finds herself surrounded by exceptionally well-read court ladies asking exceedingly technical questions, and spends the rest of the afternoon consuming fine tea and dainty sandwiches while she answers them.

When she sat down in her guest chambers that evening to pen a letter home, she could not help but smile. It had not been what she expected from an afternoon surrounded by court ladies—after all, aristocrats and sea captains rarely mix. But she found that she must give her nephew credit. She had a lovely time. And she was looking forward to hearing how Dach’osmin Tativin’s singing armadillo automaton came along.


End file.
